Come Together
by Malachi de Medici
Summary: Crossover involving many of Kings villans, with Harold Lauder as the unlikely hero.
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters used here, nor do I own the location that the story takes place in. That honor goes to Stephen King. I hope that I do his genius justice with this.**_

_Come Together_

Chapter 1

Arrival

The car's motor took on a more urgent pitch as the driver downshifted, becoming something less like a machine and more like a wounded animal, aware of its coming demise, but, unable to do anything to end its suffering. The muffler had a hole in it and that wasn't helping the volume any.

Please, thought the driver, just this one last hill, that's all I am asking. Just one last hill and, then I will ask nothing else from you. Surely the road can't go any higher. He was sure of this because if it did, the car wouldn't be completing the journey with him. He didn't know how much further he had to go, but, he didn't really relish the thought of a trek through the mountains.

The road in front of car continued upwards, almost without end. The driver couldn't see the top of the hill because of the sunlight glaring off the dirty windshield. The top could be a few hundred feet away or it could end somewhere the other side of the Pearly Gates.

"What am I doing here?" the driver asked himself for about the 10th time. Thinking back, he tried to remember the start of this trip. No joy. He couldn't remember anything before he turned off the main highway and headed up into the mountains. Before that, nothing. His driver's license gave his name as Harold Lauder, but, that meant nothing to him. It said that he lives in Ogunquit, Maine, but that meant even less to him. Neither his name nor his address sounded familiar to him. He wasn't sure if his name really was Harold, or, if that was a fake name. He thought that maybe his name was something else, something like Eagle or Raven. No, that's not it. Maybe it was Hawk. Yeah, that sounds familiar. But, he didn't think he looked Indian.

Almost as if someone had heard his earlier plea, the car crested the current hill and the motor evened out.

"Thank god," Harold muttered to himself. "Don't know how much of that this damn thing could have took." He patted the dashboard like a father proud of his kid for a minor accomplishment.

Now that the concern of the car having a fatal heart attack had passed for the moment, Harold could take in the scenery. And, Harold had to admit, it was breathtaking. The Rockies are something that everyone should see in person. He wasn't sure how he knew that this was the Rocky Mountains, but, it just felt right. The peaks above him disappeared into the mists, looking as if the sky was too tired to stay at its normal heights and decided to take a rest. To his right, a guard rail provided minimal protection from a drop that went on forever. (Well, maybe not forever, but, definitely a long fucking way.)

As he drove around the next bend, his destination was reviled to him. Nestled between to smaller peaks was a monstrous white building overlooking a breathtaking valley. To call it a mansion would be insulting it. It would be like comparing the Titanic to an inflatable raft. They both do the same thing, but, one does it with so much more style. He continued driving and a large white sign came into view.

The Overlook Hotel

So, the Overlook is where I am heading. That's nice to know. He turned onto the road leading to the covered entrance. As he got closer, he saw a sign near the door.

The management of the Overlook Hotel welcomes:

KingCon 2006

What the hell is KingCon thought Harold. Must be some kind of Sci-Fi convention.

He parked his car near the door and shut off the motor. The car motor shut off with a stutter, as if it was afraid that it would never start up again. It finally sputtered and died. The silence was deafening after the last hour of raw exhaust. Harold rummaged in the glove box and found a bottle of aspirin. He found a bottle of lukewarm water and took 4 pills. The door opened and he stepped out into the cool mountain air. He promptly doubled over with intense pain in his back.

"Fuck! How long have I been in that fucking thing?" he asked himself as he held on to the open door, waiting for the knot of pain to recede.

Crunching gravel announced the arrival of someone, but, Harold was in too much pain to look up. He saw a pair of well worn cowboy boot covered with the legs of faded jeans come to a stop a few feet away. He wanted to look up, but, couldn't.

"Howdy there pardner. What seems to be the problem?" said a man's voice that was overflowing with barely contained glee.

"My …. back …. ," sputtered Harold. "It's ….. cramped up." Harold grimaced as another stab of pain shot up his spine.

"Take your time, take your time," said the voice. "Some things you just can't rush."

After what seemed like an eternity, but, was probably only 2 or 3 minutes, the pain started to ebb. As Harold was able to straighten up, he finally got a full look at the person standing in front of him. His breath caught because he was certain that he had seen him before, but couldn't place just when or where. All he was certain of was that their last meeting wasn't a pleasant one. The man was wearing a faded jean jacket over a plain white tee shirt, jeans and boots. _Shit Kickers. _He couldn't place where he heard that before, but, he knew that he had heard some call those type of boots by that name.

Stuck to his chest was a sticker that said "Hi, my name is:" on the top and written below that was the name Randall Flagg.

"Glad to see that you've decided to join the land o' the upright and living. Thought that I was gonna have to run in and get ole Jack to bring out a stretcher to getcha into the 'Look." Flagg's voice was still full of glee, as if the thought someone falling out on the driveway was something to look forward too. "But, to be honest with you," he continued in a loudconspiratorialwhisper, "Ole Jackie Boy's been into the bottle for most of the day and really isn't in any shape to help anyone, least of all himself." His smile got even bigger and he resumed his normal tone. "Still, you got to respect someone that has the courage to do it up right. I mean, if you are gonna get shit faced, might as well not fuck around. Nope, nothing half assed for Jackie Boy. Being the caretaker for this here hotel must be a hard job. What with all the demands that the hotel makes of him." Flagg glancedbehind himat the door and then back at Harold. "Well, enough about that. Let's get you inside so you can meet the others."

Flagg grasped Harold by the arm and led him to thehotel. As he opened the door, a stunningly beautiful woman burst from the hotel and threw her arms around Flagg.

"There you are Randy," she said drunkenly. "I wondered where you ran off to. You promised to dance with me and then you run off. That wasn't very nice of you. You do realize that you are gonna have to be punished, don't you?" She grinned at him, and then looked at Harold. "Who is your friend, Randy?"

"Of course, where are my manners? Harold Lauder, meet Ardelia Lortz. Ardelia, Harold." Ardelia reached out her hand and Harold shook it gently. For just a second, he thought he caught a whiff of flowers covering something spicy, something old, but, then it was gone as fast as it came.

"Pleased to meet you Ms. Lortz," Harold stammered.

Flagg couldn't contain a giggle. "Ms? Oh, that's rich! I gotta tell Pennywise about that one. He will bust a gut!" He continued laughing until Ardelia glared at him and then stormed off.

"I'm gonna pay for that one," Flagg said, though he didn't really sound too worried. "Well, anyways, lets get you inside."

Flagg put his arm around Harold's shoulder and led him into the hotel.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Once again, I do not own any of the characters that appear in this story.**

Chapter 2

Questions

As Harold and Randall walked up the short flight of stairs to the main lobby, Harold looked around, wondering what he had gotten himself into. There was a large sign in the lobby that once again welcomed KingCon 2006 to the Overlook.

"Randall, can I ask you a question?" Harold said.

"Sure, ask away" replied Flagg.

"Where the hell am I?" said Harold, the pitch of his voice rising higher. "I mean, I don't know how I got here. Shit, I don't even know where here is. The earliest thing I remember was turning off the highway onto the access road for this hotel. I have no idea of what happened before that. I don't know why I am here; I don't know how I got into that car outside….."

"Whoa there pal, one question at a time," Flagg interrupted Harold before his voice reached a pitch that only dogs could hear. "Take it easy. Everything is gonna be okay. Everyone gets a little disoriented when they first get here. Although, I have to admit, other than Stark, you are the only one that I can remember arriving like that." Flagg paused for a second, seemingly lost in thought. "Man, that George sure knows how to make an entrance. We could hear his car all the way in the ballroom."

Harold looked at Flagg, confused. The parking lot had been empty when he pulled up.

"I didn't see a car when I pulled up. The lot was empty…"

"Guess the hotel moved the car to the guest lot round the side of the building." Flagg replied. "Anyways, like I was saying, most of us arrive in our assigned rooms. Hell, even George started out at the bottom of the drive. You're the first to start all the way at the highway."

Harold's confusion intensified.

"What are you talking about, arriving in our rooms?"

Speaking in a slow voice Flagg said, "Most …. of …. us ….. arrive … in …. our …. rooooooooms. If I am going too fast for you, let me know." Flagg rolled his eyes and grimaced. "If I gotta explain everything to you, this is gonna be a long day."

Explain, Harold thought? What is there to explain? Oh, God, what the hell is going on in this place?

Flagg guided Harold to a leather wingback chair and gently pushed him into it.

He handed him a pamphlet and said, "Here, read this. I gotta go check on Jack. I will be back in a few and we can go and meet the guys." Flagg walked away, his boot heels clicking on the hardwood floor.

Harold read the cover of the pamphlet in his hand and his mouth feel open, his brain refusing to believe what his eyes was seeing.

Guide for the Newly Dead Stephen King Villain.

Dead? Villain? And who the FUCK was Stephan King? Harold looked around, his breath becoming faster and more ragged. Oh god, I am hyperventilating. I am dead and I am fucking hyperventilating! A squeak like laugh escaped his lips. Harold felt himself loosing it completely. Get a hold of yourself! There has to be a rational explanation for all of this. With an almost heroic effort, Harold slowly brought his breathing under control.

Harold turned to the first page and began reading.

_Authors note: Sorry for taking so long on this story. For the first time in my life, I suffered from writers block. I sat at the computer one day and realized that I had completely lost the track of this story. I have tried to regain it several times with no success. After changing jobs, moving, having a new baby and burying a grandparent, I finally sat back down in front of Word and wrote what came. I hope that you like it and I plan to have chapter 3 ready soon._


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: You know how this works, but, I still gotta say it. All characters contained in this story are the sole property of Stephen King.**

Chapter 3

Guidebook

As a newly dead Stephen King Villain, you probably have a lot of questions.

_You go that right, Harold thought._

Well, welcome to the only book with the answers that will only raise more questions!

_Oh, great. The author thinks he has a sense of humor._

Everything you never knew that you always needed to know is contained right here within the cover of this book.

_Oh, yeah, I'm sure everything I need is all here._

Yep, it's all here. Every bit of it.

_Okay, this is getting kinda weird._

You know, sometimes I amaze even myself.

_You want to amaze me? Then tell me where the fuck I am at and what the fuck I am doing here. Even better, where the hell did I come from?_

I mean, it's not everyday that you can help someone like yourself with the questions of who you are, where you came from and what you are doing here….

"What the FUCK?" Harold cried, shaking his head.

Harold flung the book from his lap as if it was scalding hot. The book slid across the floor coming to a stop under a glass coffee table.

"What the FUCK?" Harold repeated, his head continuing to shake as if to deny what he saw. "What the FUCK?"

"You know, if you keep talking to yourself, people might think that there is something wrong with you," a smooth voice behind him said. "Of course, if there really is something wrong with you, then, you are definitely in the right place."

Harold turned around and looked at the man standing behind him. The man was middle aged, but, trim, wearing an expensive black suit. He looks like a politician thought Harold.

"The name's Greg Stillson. How do you do?" Greg reached out his hand to Harold.

Harold took his hand numbly, his head still shaking back and forth.

"Uh, son, is there something wrong with your head?"

"What?"

"Your head. Is there something wrong with it? Or, do you enjoy the feeling of your brain moving back and forth?"

"What?"

Greg sighed and started shaking his own head.

"You poor kid. You have no idea what is going on, do you?" Greg said sadly. "Where is your hand book?"

At the mention of the book, Harold's head stopped shaking and jerked towards the coffee table where the book laid.

"How do you know about the book? Did you write it? Is it some sort of joke? How did you do that? How did you know what I was thinking? How did you…." Harold's voice broke, cutting off the sound, but, his lips kept moving like a fish out of water.

Greg laughed softly, letting go of Harold's hand.

"I see you read the introduction to the book. Kind of freaky, huh? Scared me the first time I read it myself."

Greg paused, a look of sadness passing briefly across his face.

"I see that Flagg just left you by yourself with the book and no warning."

Greg walked over to the book, bent over, picked it up and carried it back to Harold, who shied away from it.

"Don't worry, it won't hurt you. Unless of course your feelings get hurt easily. But, I digress."

He dropped the book into Harold's lap.

"This book is the best thing that has ever happened to you. This book will answer any question that you have for it. It will help you with any information that you need. Although, I am sure that since the original came from Leland's shop, there is no telling what other little surprises that book has in store for you."

Greg shrugs his shoulders and smiles.

"Well, I must be going. See you around." He turns and walks away, tossing a short wave over his shoulder.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Disclaimer: Stephen King owns it, I am just borrowing it. I promise to return it in as good a condition as possible.**_

Chapter 4

Interruptions

_Holy shit, what the fuck have I gotten myself into_ thought Harold? _Not that I can remember actually making a conscious decision to join this little freak show, but, still. __There is some seriously fucked up shit going on here. Weird ass guys that I could have sworn I know from somewhere, books that can read minds…._

"Harry, what took you so long getting here?"

Harold turned around and looked at the woman that was moving across the lobby towards him.

"Nadine?" The name sprang unannounced and unbidden to his tongue from the very back of his mind.

The woman, who he would assume was named Nadine, finished her trek across the lobby and came to a stop in front of him. The first thing he noticed about her was that her hair was totally white. Not grey, but, white. Lacking any color. Devoid of pigmentation. Fucking white. Even her eye brows and lashes where white.

_I could see her as a brunette. I do see her as a brunette. I know that her pubic hair is brown, so, she must be a brunette. But, why would anyone dye there hair snow white?_

Harold's face turned beet red when he realized that he was sitting here thinking about a strange woman's private areas. The woman that he was sure was named Nadine smiled and waited for him to regain his composure.

"Uh ….. Uh …. Well …… Nadine ……It is Nadine isn't it?" Harold stammered, completely flustered.

Nadine smiled and nodded.

"I thought for a minute that you wouldn't recognize me."

Nadine's admission of her name gave Harold a much needed boost of confidence.

"Recognize you? Lady, I have no fucking clue who you are. I could have picked Nadine from a fucking hat for all I recognize you. I have no clue what the hell is going on here ..."

Harold was beginning to work up to another rambling tirade, and Nadine moved quickly to cut him off.

"Harold," said Nadine in a sharp, commanding voice, "shut the fuck up."

Harold's mouth shut like a trap, cutting off his words mid stream.

"We don't have much time, so listen very close. Flagg is on his way back. I can't be seen with you right now, so, I will have to leave very shortly." She looked around to see if anyone was looking at them. After a few seconds, she turned back to Harold, satisfied of their privacy.

"As soon and you possibly can, you must come up to my room. It is room number 113. I have something very important to tell you."

"Huh?" asked Harold with a lost look on his face.

"If you want to survive this thing, you will do exactly as I tell you and not ask any fucking questions."

Nadine looked around like a deer that hears the hunter mistakenly stepping on a branch.

"Remember, room 113 as soon as you can. And, don't tell anyone that you met me."

Nadine kissed Harold on the lips quickly and fled across the lobby as if the hounds of hell where after her.

"Harold, there you are you old dog!"

Flagg's voice echoed as Nadine disappeared through a door on the other side of the lobby. He walked up to Harold, put his arm around him and began leading him to a large set of double doors where the sounds of a rather large party that Harold could remember noticing before emanated from.

"Time to meet the guys," said Flagg.

_Authors note: Sorry this chapter is so short, hope to have more soon._


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: You know how this works. All characters you see here are property of Stephen King. Song lyrics belong to the Beatles.**

Chapter 5

Introductions

Flagg led Harold into a dimly lit ballroom. The exact size of the room was hard to determine because of the lack of light, but, from the way the music emanating from the DJ's speakers was echoing and re-echoing, the room sounded huge. There was a disco ball hanging from the ceiling throwing small beams of light all over the place, but, those beams did nothing to help.

Harold stopped at the doorway until his eyes could get adjusted to the light. The current song finished; something sappy by a group of guys with serious questions about their heterosexually, and the DJ introduced the next song.

"Okay, that was _I Want You Back_, by NSYNC," said the DJ, way too happy to be alive.

"I am your humble spinner of tunes, your master of music, your prince of party, the one, the only, PENNYWISE!!!!!"

The DJ's voice boomed from the speakers, shaking glasses on tables and causing almost everyone to jump. Harold looked over to the DJ booth, trying to see who was shaking the room, but the DJ was obscured by towering speakers. What the hell is this guys problem, thought Harold.

Flagg's chuckle could be heard by Harold in the ensuing silence.

"Penny kills me. He really knows how to get a party going."

People on the dance floor started clapping for the DJ, all be it late, but, with spirit.

"Now, this next song is for all you oldies out there. But before we get to it, there is one very special person with us who I would like to take a second to recognize. Ladies and Germs, please put your hands together: all the way from up Maine way, HAROLD LAUDER."

A startlingly bright spotlight suddenly glared in Harold's face, blinding him. He put his arm up to block the glare. Through squinting eyes, he could just barely see people turn from the DJ to him.

"That's right, the one and only Harold Lauder! Put your hands together, let him know how you feel about him!"

The applause got louder for a few seconds, then was cut off by the DJ again.

"Okay, now, without further ado, I give you, THE BEATLES!"

From the speakers came a guitar lick that Harold knew, but, didn't know how he knew it, or where he had heard before.

_Standing in the dock at Southampton  
Trying to get to Holland or France.  
The man in the mac said you've got to go back,  
You know they didn't even give us a chance.  
Christ! You know it ain't easy,  
You know how hard it can be.  
The way things are going,  
They're going to crucify me…._

People began to dance as Flagg took Harold's arm and led him to the DJ booth. The spot light was cut off as they began to move, but, Harold still saw a ghostly image of the light. As they moved to the booth, Harold saw people pointing to him and speaking to each other behind their hands.

Harold turned to Flagg to ask him about it, but, Flagg leaned over to Harold, and spoke to him above the music, interrupting what he was going to say.

"We are gonna meet Penny now. You'll like him. He's a great guy. Just don't take a balloon if he offers you one." Flagg grinned his insane grin at Harold.

"Balloon? What are you talking about?" Harold said, his thoughts about people talking about him forgotten.

Flagg held his finger up to his lips and shushed him, ending the conversation.

They ascended a short flight of steps up to the DJ booth. At the front of the booth, looking through a stack of CD's was a tall man with his back to them. He was wearing a white jumpsuit and had a large afro. Maybe it was a trick of the light, but, his hair appeared to be red. And, there seemed to be a large red ruffle around his neck. Almost like ….. a clown outfit. After the day that Harold had, the idea of a clown as the DJ was almost too much for him to take.

"I gotta sit down," Harold said weakly. He groped for the nearest chair and sat down hard. "Too much, just too much. I can't take it anymore. I just want to go home. I want to get away from this place…."

Harold had made only a soft noise sitting down, but, the DJ turned quickly as he sat down.

"A clown," said Harold, matter-of-factly.

"You where expecting Casey Kasim? Of course I am a clown. What else would I be?"

The DJ, also known as Pennywise was dressed as a, well, a clown. His face was covered with white grease paint. His eyes where outlined with black and his mouth was outlined with red in the form of a giant smile. His outfit, on closer inspection, was white with tiny strips of metallic color running vertically. In the revolving light of the disco ball, the cloth almost seemed to pulse, giving the appearance of a living and breathing thing. Harold looked down and confirmed that Penny was even wearing large, oversized clown shoes.

Penny turned to Flagg, frowning.

"This is the one that is supposed to be the One?" he said.

"I know," said Flagg, "he is a little slow on the uptake, but, come on. Do you remember what it was like when you where the One? You where running around like this was an episode of the X-Files. Remember what you did when you ran into He who Walks in the bathroom for the first time? You screamed like a little bitch, didn't you? He who Walks wound up pissing all over his foot because of your screaming."

Penny giggled, remembering how it felt.

"Okay, fine, I will take it easy on him."

He looked at Harold, who sat in the chair, momentarily forgotten.

"Pleased to meet you."

Penny held out his hand, waiting for Harold to shake it. When Harold held out his own hand tentatively, Penny rushed forwards, grabbing it, and grinning at Harold. With a mouth full of sharp teeth. A mouth overflowing with sharp, pointy teeth. A mouth that couldn't really have that many sharp, pointy teeth in it. A mouth that had a smell coming from it that could only be described as Death. With a capital D.

"Want a balloon?" Penny growled at Harold, from about 2 inches. Harold could feel the fires of Hell erupting from Penny's mouth. "Oh, yes, you will like it down here. You will float down here. THEY ALL FLOAT DOWN HERE!!!!"

Harold's mind had had enough and decided that it was time to go. As Harold descended into unconsciousness, he heard Penny and Flagg laughing.

**Author's note: Once again, I must cry everyone's pardon for such a long time between chapters. My only excuse is that I was sucked in my World of Warcraft and was only now able to extricate myself from the land of Azeroth. I hope this installment meets everyone's expectations. I hope to have another chapter soon. **


	6. Chapter 6

**DISCLAIMER: I'M SURE YOU ALREADY KNOW THIS, BUT ALL CHARACTERS CONTAINED IN THIS STORY ARE THE SOLE PROPERTY OF STEPHEN KING**.

Co-conspirators

Harold returned to consciousness grudgingly. He wasn't sure, but, he thought that he was dead. He felt like he was laying on a cloud and a diffuse, warm light could be felt on his face, coming from his right. He caught the slight sent of jasmine mixed with lavender coming from that direction as well and was sure that this is what heaven smells like. He lay there for a minute or two, refusing to open his eyes, just enjoying the rest. His body felt like it had been used for a punching bag, and the soft coolness that he was laying on felt like nothing he had ever felt before. In fact, at that point in time, Harold would rather lay there until Judgment Day.

After a few minutes, Harold became aware of another presence near him, somewhere off to his right. He could hear the soft sound of what sounded like clothes moving; it was a silky, whispery sound, as if angels where whispering. The sound wasn't altogether unpleasant, considering the way he was starting to feel.

_I guess I better open my eyes_, thought Harold, _but, I'm afraid that I will see that clown again. _

Up until that thought, Harold had been able to keep the events that had led to his rather unmanly fainting from surfacing. Harold sighed and opened his eyes.

His was treated to the sight of a shear, pale peach canopy, the kind that you would find over the bed of a teenage girl. Through the material, Harold could see a plain white ceiling. His vision was blocked on the left and right by the incredibly plush pillows on each side of his head. A slight breeze was moving from the right to the left, causing the thin canopy above him to gently sway.

"Glad to see that you decided not to chicken out," said a smooth, rich feminine voice coming from his left.

Harold, expecting to find someone on his right side, jumped up to a sitting position, looked to his left, then, to his right, then back to the left, then once again to his right, where his gaze stayed.

"What the fuck!!" blurted Harold.

Harold was in a very elegantly furnished bedroom. _One of the rooms of the Overlook,_ thought part of Harold's mind. _From the looks of it, one of the more expensive ones._

The other part of Harold's mind, the part that was fighting with the rest of himself to take control of his motor functions and run from the room screaming was repeating his previous statement over and over as if it would somehow negate the sight before him.

The right side of the room was taken up by a large picture window that filled half of the wall. The window overlooked a deck with comfortable looking chairs that sat facing a post card picture perfect view of the Rocky Mountains at sunset. Right under the window were several small flowerpots, each planted with a mixture of jasmine and lavender. The light coming through the window was a beautiful orange color and the mountains in the distance seemed to sparkle. The window was set into the room about 2 feet and where framed on both sides by heavy looking curtains. To the right of the window was a door leading to the deck that was slightly ajar. To the left of the window, half-hidden in the gathering shadows was the object of Harold distress.

At first, Harold could not tell any details other than there was a back form shot through with red veins. On his second look, he noticed that the figure appeared to have 3 long thin appendages on the right side of his body, just barley visible. His first impression was that they where the legs of a giant insect, but, he quickly discounted this idea. The figure, who he decided was a male, had smooth, dark grey skin. His eyes where hidden in the shadow of his brow, but, glowed a faint, red color. His clothes hung in tatters that seem to gently sway in an oddly hypnotic rhythm.

"I be you are wondering if he is the boogey man, come to get you, aren't you?" said the voice to his left.

Harold turned back to his left and looked at the other person in the room.

Sitting in a rather comfortable looking antique, cream colored, Victorian high-back chair was a plain looking teen-aged girl. Harold would have guessed she was about 18. She was dressed in a modest, white formal dress and had a small tiara gently placed atop her straight brown hair. Her legs where crossed and both her small hands where perched delicately on her knees.

"Don't worry, Mordred won't eat you. He just ate," she said.

"Ate?" said Harold, afraid to ask for any details.

"Yes, and it was quite nasty. I don't know why they made me his keeper, but, I do know if I have to watch him eat again, I think I will throw up. I mean, come on, does he have to be so messy when he eats? I was standing too close and got blood all over me. I would have been cleaner if I poured a bucket of blood over myself. Took me forever to get cleaned up." The girl rambled on about how hard it was to wash blood out of you hair. Harold turned back to Mordred, but, he was gone. Harold thought that he saw a large shape disappearing under the bed he was on, but, had no desire to find out what it was.

Harold turned back to the girl, who was still babbling on about clothes, having progressed from her current outfit to the outfit she planned to wear to the masquerade ball that was being held tonite.

"Excuse me, but, who the fuck are you?" interrupted Harold.

The girl stopped in mid sentence, almost as if he had slapped her. Her mouth made an O shape that Harold thought was extremely funny. He didn't laugh at her though, because he realized that maybe she could help him understand what was going on around here. Other than her friend Mordred, who apparently could change from a mutant looking man into a dog sized mutant "thing", she looked relatively normal.

"I'm sorry miss. I didn't mean to be so rude. I have had a long day and I let my tiredness get the best of me. Please forgive me.," said Harold, as apologetically as possible.

The girl's brow continued to be dark for a few seconds more, then, seemed to accept his apology.

"My name is Carrie White. I saw you come in with Flagg," she said. "I asked the front desk what your room number was and I came up here. Your door was open and I came on in. You where asleep, so, I thought I would wait…"

Carrie was interrupted by the entrance of Nadine.

Nadine looked at Carrie and smirked.

"I wondered where you had went. I hope you didn't leave Mordred alone. I don't want him eating anyone before we have a chance to kill them ourselves," she said savagely.

Harold looked at Nadine and said, "What are you talking about, killing someone? How are you going to kill anyone? Why would you want to kill someone?"

"The why is kinda hard to explain, but, the how is real easy," Nadine replied.

"Okay?" said Harold

"We are gonna blow this whole fucking place to hell!!" said Nadine triumphantly.


End file.
